Clocks
by nancystagerat
Summary: Too much thinking can be a dangerous thing in the middle of the night. Especially when he's the only thing on her mind. RLNT, Tonks' POV. Mid HBP.


You know what I've realized these past few months? How badly I hate clocks. I hate it when the only sound you can hear in the middle of the night is a clock ticking, breaking the otherwise dead silence. I hate that Merlin forbid I wake up while it's still dark, the damn ticking noise keeps me from getting back to sleep.

Because then there's nothing to keep me from thinking. Nothing to keep my mind off of how every time, without fail, I wake up reaching for someone who's not there.

He hasn't been there for a while now. You'd think I'd have gotten used to waking up alone. But no. I'm far beyond the point where I can "forget" I'd ever woken up beside Remus. My brain doesn't work like that.

I'm almost starting to envy people who can just block things out of their memory. Then I could forget he never told me I'd be better off alone and go back to sleeping easy at night. Deluding myself into thinking he'll be back, once his stint as spy is done. Like the stupid girl I am.

I love him. He knows this. My heart nearly stopped the day he told me he felt the same. I remember staring at him like an idiot for a few seconds, then bursting into tears. I hadn't turned on the waterworks like that in close to ten years. For something like five minutes straight he just held me and let my eyes leak all over his jumper, laughing softly and kissing my hair until I pulled myself together enough to see how absurd I was being and laugh with him. I was shocked and floored and felt like the only person alive for a good day and a half while I waited for it to sink in.

_Sun and stars, he_ loved_ me. Me! Of all people_.

To be perfectly honest, before Remus I'd never had a man fancy me for _me_ before. The first boy I'd ever dated (I was a fifth year at the time, on a Hogsmeade trip) only took me out so I'd warm to him enough to agree, when he asked, to morph into the Gryffindor girl he really liked. I was devastated, not to mention all manner of horrified it's possible for a person to be. I don't know if he said anything at my reaction; all I remember is slapping the money for my coffee on the table and tripping as fast as I could out of Madam Puddifoot's. I was a right mess; cried for an hour on Charlie Weasley's shoulder that evening. Couldn't even morph for a week, I was that shaken.

Next thing I knew, rumors were circulating that I'd morph into anyone in exchange for sex. Teenagers are cruel that way. I had boys after me for the rest of my Hogwarts career thinking I'd change into this girl or that one for them, a number of them even from my own House. At one point there were even a couple of _girls_ asking me to morph. Guess they were desperate, the whole lot of them, aside from being sick. It got so bad that by the end of my sixth year I started hexing any boy who wasn't Charlie that so much as tried to walk next to me to class. Later, being the only female Auror cadet in my year hadn't been much better. At any rate, it'd given me the drive to show them all up on my final qualifications exams.

I'd dated a few other men since then, but none lasted long. I didn't trust any of them. My head wouldn't let me. And then one night in the middle of my watch, Remus John Lupin decided to waltz into Grimmauld, easy as you please, and tease me about hitting myself in the face with the door as soon as I'd done his security check.

He was a charming smartass. He made me laugh from day one. I liked working with him. I liked talking with him. I liked most everything about him.

I don't know when I crossed the line between friendship into something else, but whenever it was, I immediately tried to kick the thought out of my brain. There was no way. _Eyes on the road, Tonks, eyes on the road. Don't get your hopes up. You have a million more important things to focus on than the way his hair falls into his face like that._ But that didn't stop me from noticing how whenever he'd dip his head, that sandy brown hair would fall forward and hide his eyes. Didn't stop me from loving it anyway. But that was all I'd ever expected to do, watch and let the little things about him steal through my thoughts every now and then.

So I was more than a little surprised when, a few months after I'd met him, he asked me to dinner. I got scared. I said no. And regretted it until the next day; he laughed when I asked if the invitation was still open. But his eyes lit up all the same, and I'd never been more elated, or terrified, in my life. It was far too good to be true. I didn't think it would last.

We went to the Leaky Cauldron, nothing fancy. Neither of us could afford much more, and besides, if the place was nicer I'd have been sure to break something in addition to spilling any liquid within reach. I spilled things regardless, an entire glass of water all over Remus' lap, and was horrified that I'd mucked things up before we'd even ordered food. He took it in stride, though; a quick drying charm later and he'd picked up right where our conversation left off. Later when I tried to apologize, I saw that sly smile curve across his mouth and he said he'd have been far more surprised if I hadn't spilled something. I hit him with my napkin. We laughed for the rest of the night.

It wasn't long, maybe a week, before we fell into kissing. Not long, again, after that, when we fell into more.

After a while, though, I guess I took him for granted. He would just always be there, whether we were fighting alongside each other or talking over tea on night watch. He would be there up until the full moon, and back again, pale and exhausted, the day after. He would be there when I woke up every morning, arms around me, chin resting on the top of my head. I slept better with Remus there. I was so _used_ to him there. It was almost as if, so long as I had him beside me, nothing, not Death Eaters, not dementors, not even the Dark Lord himself, could touch us.

I trusted him. I trusted him like no other man I'd ever met.

And this is where trust got me. Awake, and alone, in the middle of the night, with only a clock for company. Reminding me that time passes whether I like it or not. That we were never the center of the world, never what really mattered against the darker things behind us. That it's very likely, between my job at the Ministry and work with the Order, I might well be killed before I see him again. Either one of us could be. Before I can tell him I'm sorry for whatever it was I did to make him think he should stay away from me.

This is what the dementors show me now. The dark. The clock. The aching loneliness I thought I'd never have to feel again. And the whisper is always there, my own voice swirling softly through my head, cold with words I've never said aloud.

_He left you_.

A Patronus is a damn hard thing to summon when it hurts to dredge up your best memories. When it hurts to even see the Patronus itself. A few weeks ago I made to send a message up to Kingsley, and instead of the scrappy little fox I'd been conjuring since school, a wolf stared back at me through those familiar, tired, utterly _human_ eyes I hadn't seen in months. I almost didn't want to send it to Kingsley, would've rather waited until the charm dissipated on its own, if that was the only way I'd get to see Remus' eyes. And I felt pathetic that I'd let the man have that kind of a hold on me. What kind of use would I be to anyone when I couldn't focus on what was immediately more important? If I kept carrying on like that, all I'd be to the Order was a liability.

So, that's where I am now. I push him out of my head as best I can during the day. I do my job. I keep my mind on what it needs to be on, do what I need to for the Order. And those rare times I catch Remus when he comes back to report to Dumbledore, I try to talk to him and I can see it kills him, too. But all he ever tells me is I'm safer this way, better I'm off alone, he's too dangerous, he's not worth it. Almost like he'd rather be alone, though he's said to me, in as many words, how he hates to stay away.

So long as I'm not left to think for too long, I'm fine. I can't help that at night my brain has its own agenda, or that it's in cahoots with my hateful clock. But during the day, work keeps me occupied enough; there's always something backing up the Auror department, some case or another that needs running after. Molly keeps saying I'm taking on too much, that I'm just going through the motions, and I may be, but it's better than being useless. She says she knows he loves me. She says he only wants to keep me safe. Well, you know what? I love him, too, and the last person Remus needs to protect me from is himself. We were together for about a year before doubts and regrets forced themselves into places they shouldn't be. The man knows what I've been through. He knows things about me even _I _don't know. He should bloody well know by now that his lycanthropy is the least of my worries.

I hate him for underestimating me. I hate that he's always the chivalrous Gryffindor looking out for everyone but himself. I hate him for all his damn self-flagellation. I hate the deprecating jokes he makes about himself. I hate that he takes so much grief for things that are beyond his control. I hate that he feels he has to keep me at arms' length. I hate that living with werewolves has convinced him he's a monster. I hate that I can't convince him I want him anyway.

I hate that I'm not enough to heal him.

I hate that I don't trust him the same way as before.

I hate that damn clock on the wall for reminding me life's going on without him.


End file.
